Earl sat there, and saw his mother draw the poor woman into the room and
try to comfort her; he heard, with a vague understanding, his father
order the horses to be harnessed immediately; he watched him putting on
his coat and hat out in the hall.
When he heard the horses trot up the drive, he sprang to his feet. When
Mr. Munroe opened the door, Earl, with his coat and cap on, was at his
heels.
"Why, you can't go, Earl!" said his father, when he saw him. "Go back at
once."
Earl was white and trembling. He half sobbed: "Oh, father, I must go!"
said he.
"Earl, be reasonable. You want to help, don't you, and not hinder?" his
mother called out of the dining-room.
Earl caught hold of his father's coat. "Father--look here--I--_I believe
I know where she is_!"
Then his father faced sharply around, his mother and Jenny's stood
listening in bewilderment, and Earl told his ridiculous, childish, and
cruel little story. "I--didn't dream--she'd really be--such a
little--goose as to--go," he choked out; "but she must have, for"--with
brave candor--"I know she believed every word I told her."
It seemed a fantastic theory, yet a likely one. It would give method to
the search, yet more alarm to the searchers. The mountain was a wide
region in which to find one little child.
Jenny's mother screamed out, "Oh, if she's lost on the mountain,
they'll never find her! They never will, they never will! Oh, Jenny,
Jenny, Jenny!"
Earl gave a despairing glance at her, and bolted up-stairs to his own
room.
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